As Of Yet Untitled
by sarini
Summary: Dumbledore was upfront with Harry, Voldemort defeated earlier and Harry injured, and then . . . Uncle Vernon transferred to Sunnydale.  With the Hellmouth interfering with magic, will the wizarding world find Harry?  Mostly canon pairings. HP? SLASH
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Below is the first chapter for a crossover fic that's been on the back burner for quite some time. I will not work much on this fic until I finish _Child of Four_, so please do not inundate me with demands for updates. The fic is currently untitled, so please send me your suggestions for titles. Please note: There will be canon pairings as well as non, there will be slash, and Harry will be paired with someone from the HP-verse.

Disclaimer – HP? Rowling – Buffy? Whedon – Need I say more?

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- Chapter One -

He was furious . . . absolutely, beyond all reason bloody furious. There were few people living that could provoke him to such a state, and it was just his luck that he lived with three of them. Since he couldn't kill, maim, or otherwise harm them, he went for a walk. Oddly, this new town they had moved him to without anything in the way of notice had almost no parks and an exceedingly high number of cemeteries. It was beyond strange – but he was no one to judge strange.

After the events of the previous year, cemeteries just did not hold the same dread that they had since he was fourteen, so he felt no qualms in strolling about amongst the graves. It was even somewhat soothing, walking in the dark and peaceful atmosphere of the cemetery. There was no swing set to rest on as he let his anger bleed away as he had so frequently done in Surrey, so he kept walking, not particularly interested in lounging on or against someone's headstone.

The smartest thing to do when one hears strange noises in a cemetery late at night would probably be to turn around and vacate the area post haste. He had never been one to do the smart thing though, if the smart thing was contrary to satisfying his ridiculously inflated sense of curiosity, especially if there was danger involved. Slowly creeping towards the noise, he peeked around a rather large monument and saw a man with a boy about his age digging up a grave.

Normally, he might interrupt this display of disrespect for the dead, but then the younger of the two grave robbers spoke . . . and was answered by a decidedly feminine voice, followed by another. Inspecting the area a little more closely, he spotted two teenage girls, again just about his age, sitting against another monument (not only were there far too many graveyards here, but there was a higher than normal percentage of monuments within said graveyards). They were drinking something from paper cups and eating what looked like doughnuts.

While in the past he had frequently leapt without looking, and stuck his nose into far too many situations in which he had no business interfering, his last year had managed to instill some sense of caution. The pure oddity of the scene before him triggered that caution and he merely studied the faces he could see; the younger of the two diggers was facing away from him. Committing them to memory just in case – in case of what he wasn't sure – he backed away silently and retraced his path back to his relatives' new house, anger forgotten in the face of a new mystery.

His aunt yelled at him as he walked in the door – no surprise there – and he didn't bother listening to the actual words. It was completely unnecessary, as he knew the gist it anyway. The same insults he heard since he could remember she spat from her mouth, coupled with whatever his latest offense was, and the culmination was him being ordered to his room. As he was walking right by her – ignoring her rant – and headed there anyway, they were both satisfied with the outcome.

Every piece of furniture in the new house was new – with the sole exception of the items in his room. They were all purchased second-hand when his uncle came over before the rest of them. The lumps were in different locations, but the end result was the same. His bed was decidedly uncomfortable, yet he was grateful for its presence as he sank down onto his thin blanket and concrete slab of a pillow.

The walk was probably an unwise move on his part. He ached all over, and he could feel sleep edging in no matter how hard he fought it. It was still too soon in his recovery for him to be exerting himself in any way. He had only really gotten out of bed one week ago – if one ignored the cross-Atlantic and cross-country flights that he slept through for the most part, the rest a haze. Considering the last day he fully remembered was well over two months ago, a week of convalescence was not all that much.

Now that the argument with his uncle had faded, and the mystery he stumbled upon relegated to the background of his mind for the moment, his primary anxiety since he had regained coherence returned. More than a month ago he had slept through his seventeenth birthday, and he had not yet heard one word from a single one of his friends. They were supposed to come for him then.

They were late.

All sorts of reasons flew through his mind as sleep claimed him, none of them pleasant. His last suspicion was that they no longer cared, and caused an aching hollow to appear in his chest. He had done his job, and now they did not need him. A little part of him (sounding suspiciously like Hermione and Mrs. Weasley combined) knew he was wrong, and blamed his relatives for his insecurities, but that voice was drowned out by imagined looks of contempt on the faces that once smiled when they saw him.

_It was only a few days after he got home from school that the door rang and he opened it to see his headmaster on the front step. He had been completely surprised, but that did not even compare to the shock that came an hour or so later. A trip into the headmaster's pensieve, followed by side-along apparition to a dilapidated shack with a snake nailed to the front door, passed by in a whirl, his mind racing the whole time to catch up. The only moment of clarity came when he snatched the ring away from Dumbledore, stopping the aging headmaster from placing it on his finger._

_That was only the beginning. Intense training followed, along with several other forays into memories of a killer, and to offset it all he was given freedom like he had never had before. All the younger members of the Order took it upon themselves to give him a true taste of life, whisking him away from Hogwarts on most weekends and the occasional weekday evening. For the first time in his life he had fun away from school; he experienced emotions that he didn't even have names for._

_The Headmaster was upfront with him from the beginning, and he knew he would not live to be a father – not unless he went about it in a real rush anyway. It was unlikely he would live to finish school, or even just that year. With that in mind he took advantage not only of every learning experience that came his way – determined to end his life with honor and causing as much devastation for the other side as possible – but also of every chance to truly live his life to the fullest extent, or _almost _every chance._

_He hadn't meant for it to happen, but he supposed that if he had looked for love to fall in his lap, it would not have come. Still, he did not betray his feelings, even though he suspected they were returned. It would not be fair to begin any sort of relationship with the knowledge of his imminent death. He just couldn't leave someone behind like that. So he held his tongue, and kept just a little, tiny bit of hope in the back of his mind that somehow, against all odds, he would figure out a way to survive._

_He worked harder than ever before in his life and studied more than he ever thought he could. There were times when he felt like his brain was going to swell up and burst, and luckily his friends would secret him off for some fun before he returned to his lessons and books. His only regret was the distance that developed between him and Ron, though thanks to his new dedication to studying Hermione was closer than ever before._

_That year went by faster than any other, and it was in June when all their plans came to fruition._

_There was a blinding flash of light, so many colors combined that all he saw was pure white, and pain followed, pain like he had never felt before. He could not stand it; he was burning and freezing all at once, it was a cacophony of silence, and the light was dark, all his nerves ablaze with pain, and blackness followed._

He woke with sweat dripping from his hair into his eyes, his breath heaving. Even in September it was still hot at night here and he cursed the weather, ignoring his dream's part. After all, it was his relative's fault that he was experiencing this ghastly heat (without a single fan in his room), and he really didn't want to think about his dream, his memories.

Glancing at the LED display on his bedside table, he saw it was far too early to begin breakfast, despite the morning sun coming in the window. His relatives, for once in his life, were being fairly reasonable in regards to his chores. His aunt recognized that he had been seriously ill, and only requested that he do the cooking, the only chore that he actually enjoyed.

Next to the clock was a folded piece of parchment, and he picked it up carefully, unfolding it to read those words yet again. It was clear that the letter had been unfolded and refolded several times, and he hesitated. He knew the words practically by heart, and wasn't sure he wanted to read them again. Was he looking for some sort of reassurance, or some indication that the words were a lie, that the headmaster had no intention of sending someone for him? Even if the headmaster didn't order anyone to find him, he had plenty of friends that should have found him. It wasn't like he was hiding from them.

With a sigh, he set the letter back in its spot next to the clock and got up for a refreshingly cool shower, as long as he liked since he wasn't 'wasting' hot water. He dug through his trunk for some clothing, a combination of habit and hope keeping him from unpacking, and thanked whatever deity that persuaded his friends to take him shopping – in muggle London as well as Diagon Alley. No longer was he forced to endure his cousin's voluminous hand-me-downs – the trousers alone could easily fit two of him in one leg, especially with the weight he lost in the past months.

Even so, his clothing was loose. He hadn't lost much muscle mass, but his fat reserves – what little he had – had been entirely depleted. His aunt had apparently followed the potions regimen ordered by Madam Pomfrey – more or less – or he would have woken in much worse condition.

He tucked his wand away out of sight in the special pocket of his jeans, more out of habit than anything else. It had been well over a month since he used it, and some instinct was holding him back. He was old enough now to use magic whenever he wanted, but something felt wrong and he was going to wait until he was sure he wouldn't hurt someone accidentally. There was no Hogwarts staff to help him fix any problems. Hell, if he felt he could have used magic, the first thing he would have done was put a cushioning charm on his bed and pillow.

Down in the kitchen, he ground fresh coffee beans and started them brewing, then took out frying pans. Sometimes the smell of the brewing coffee was all the incentive his uncle needed to wake up. Sure enough, within minutes of the scent beginning to waft through the house, he heard the shower running upstairs.

Remembering that he had a day full of placement tests in front of him, he decided that his relatives needed a hearty full English breakfast, and began selecting the necessary ingredients from the refrigerator. He pulled out eggs, bread, tomatoes, cheese, and butter, and then got a can of baked beans from the cupboard.

Soon, the smells of frying eggs, tomato, and bread joined the coffee. Hearing his uncle on the stairs, he put just a bit of cream and a single spoonful of sugar in the bottom of his uncle's favorite mug before pouring in the coffee, and set it down at the man's place at the table. After sixteen years, he had the amounts down precisely.

The obese man sat down and merely grunted at his nephew, before drinking his first cup of coffee all in one long pull. It was refilled almost as soon as it was set back down on the table, and a plate full of fried tomato, fried bread with melted cheese, sunny side up eggs, and baked beans, all steaming hot, was soon being steadily devoured.

"You get yourself to the school today, Harry," the man gestured with his fork between mouthfuls, drips of egg yolk falling to the table, "and don't be late."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry said monotonously, knowing that any inflection that could be construed as 'cheek' would ensure he did not get breakfast. Aunt Petunia was not up yet, and could not enforce Madam Pomfrey's regular order of plenty of food and rest for a proper recovery. Still, 'Harry' was an improvement over his uncle's name for him for years, 'Boy.'

Harry made it through the meal, ensuring that Dudley got at least twice what was on Harry's plate. This was no hardship on Harry, as his cousin ate an obscene amount of food, and Harry's appetite had not recovered as much as the rest of him. Though the food was sustaining, it was also rather heavy and a bit greasy – perfect in the Dursleys' opinion. Harry, though, passed on the fried bread in favor of toast, had two scrambled eggs with cheese, a small portion of beans, and ate his tomato slices raw. He poured a cup of coffee for himself, and this presumption went without comment, though his aunt, finally awake, raised her eyebrows.

"You get going," Aunt Petunia pushed him out the door the instant breakfast was done. Luckily, Harry's bag was by the door, and he didn't need much for the day. She gave him a few American dollars for his lunch and slammed the door in his face.

Harry rolled his eyes as he started walking towards the school – at least he didn't have to wash the dishes. He was lucky that the house his relatives had purchased was near the center of town, otherwise he might have had to walk several miles to get to school and he was just not in good enough shape for that.

He frowned as he thought over all the ways he could try to contact the wizarding world. He didn't know enough about the American wizarding population or system of government to find it (it was not covered in History of Magic, at least not while he was awake, and all his extra tutelage was geared towards fighting a war), and he hadn't seen a single owl or other large bird in any of his nocturnal walks. His magic felt . . . off . . . somehow, so attempting to apparate or create a portkey was out. His education this past year had included all sorts of examples of apparition and portkey usage gone wrong, and he had no intention of scattering his body parts all over North America.

Harry did not even have a clue whether or not they had the floo system on this side of the pond, and to use it he would have to find a wizarding home. He certainly couldn't go knocking door to door and asking if he could make a call through the fireplace. Even if he found a floo system, it likely wasn't possible to call anyone in England.

He had tried calling for Fawkes, but either the phoenix was too far away to hear his call, had just had a burning day, or was not answering.

Lost in his thoughts, Harry might have missed the school if it weren't for the swarm of teenagers outside. After asking a few people, he managed to find the main office, and informed the secretary that he was supposed to see the principal.

He was escorted into an office and told to wait in an uncomfortable wooden chair. Accustomed to boredom, Harry managed to not fidget as he waited. He amused himself by examining the office, reading the various hangings on the walls and spines of books. This was far less interesting than Dumbledore's office, and was practically decrepit in comparison.

It was his misfortune that his sigh of longing escaped just as Principal Snyder, according to the door as he had entered, walked into the room.

"Mr. Potter," Snyder said with derision, and Harry was immediately reminded of Snape. The Potions Professor had come to tolerate Harry over the year, but they were only barely civil with each other. Briefly, Harry wondered if the man was even alive still. Dumbledore hadn't mentioned him at all in his letter, only assuring Harry of the survival of the people he deeply cared about, namely the Weasleys, Hermione, a few other students, and a handful of Order members.

The man slapped a manila folder down on his desk as he sat and began to leaf through it in silence. Having endured his uncle, Snape, Lockhart, Umbridge, Fudge, and Scrimgeour – not to mention Voldemort himself – Harry was not at all intimidated. Snyder closed the folder abruptly with a flap of paper hitting paper – as Harry had noted before, wholly unimpressive.

"It seems your previous school will not even admit you were a student," Snyder gave him a look of loathing, and Harry immediately knew that his uncle had been spewing lies at the man. Dudley had also been at the school for a week already and had his chance to spread terrible rumors about his 'criminal' cousin. Only time would tell if he had, or if his apparent change in attitude after the dementor encounter held. "Unfortunately, the law entitles you to an education, and we have no choice but to provide. Since you have no school records after the age of eleven," one hand was placed on the dreaded folder, "you will spend the next several days taking tests to determine your academic placement."

Snyder stood and looked out the window for a moment before turning around, doing his best to look menacing. Harry was still not impressed.

"Your uncle has discussed your history with me at length and let me inform you now, Mr. Potter, I have no room in this school for delinquents. Step one foot out of line," here Snyder pointed at him for effect, Harry half expecting the man to actually poke him, "and I will not hesitate to expel you."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied as respectfully as possible, though his disdain for the petty man was already growing. Here was a man who did not bother forming his own opinions. All it took was a little of Vernon's blustering and Harry was already tried and convicted. Harry could save the man's life, be proclaimed the next Messiah by the population at large, and Snyder would still think he was up to something.

"Very well," Snyder acted as though they had come to some sort of agreement. "Follow me. You will be taking your tests in the school library, as we do not have a classroom that we can dedicate just to you all day."

As Harry walked behind the man he fought against rolling his eyes. If he had his way, he wouldn't be at this school very long anyway. Harry had no intention of getting on the wrong side of the law, though, and until his eighteenth birthday he was a minor in this country, and subject to the rule of his legal guardians, a point that Uncle Vernon had been only too gleeful to mention.

Snyder entered the library, with Harry right behind him. A blink of his eyes was all he allowed in terms of recognition. Harry was thankful for his Occlumency teaching, as only a year ago he might have been gaping stupidly. Whatever it was he had been expecting, the sight of the man he had seen digging up a grave the night before was not it.

"Mr. Potter, this is Mr. Giles our librarian." Snyder seemed to have a little respect for his employee, though his insulting tone barely changed. Harry wondered if the man liked anyone or anything. "He will be proctoring your tests for the next few days."

"A pleasure," Harry intoned carefully, reaching out with his senses, and detecting just a hint of dark magic about the librarian, though it felt old. What disturbed Harry was the sudden influx of darkness from the earth. Still, he did not betray his sudden unease.

Snyder left without another word and Mr. Giles, looking entirely innocent as he polished his glasses, said, "Mr. Potter, is it?"

"Harry," he nodded once, a bit tense.

The familiar accent did nothing to warm him to the man. He had clearly dabbled in dark magic in the past, but did not feel like a wizard at all. As he had been taught, muggles that played with magic were dangerous, as they had to access some sort of outside source of energy, which they could never fully control. Any time they attempted magic, they risked the magic controlling them, rather than the other way around, and magic itself had no distinction between wrong and right, evil and good. Those were human concepts.

"No need to be nervous, Harry," Mr. Giles smiled disarmingly. "Let's get you set up in my office. We wouldn't want you disturbed by other students."

Harry was directed towards a room by the checkout counter, the desk clearly cleaned off for the purpose of his test taking. There were two stacks of paper on one side, one blank and lined, the other computer printouts, along with a few pencils and a calculator. Having done all his math longhand for years, the calculator was an unanticipated luxury.

"What part of Britain do you hail from?" Mr. Giles questioned him.

"I was raised in Surrey," Harry responded plainly. There was no sense in telling the man that his parents had lived in Wales, and he had mostly lived in Scotland, Ottery St. Catchpole, and London for the past six years.

Mr. Giles just nodded politely, then asked, "Tea?"

Harry was soon at work with a cup of tea in front of him, struggling through the history test. It was sure to be his worst subject. After all, British wizards still referred to America as "the colonies" and he couldn't exactly bring up Grindelwald in his short essay on World War II.

He spent all morning wracking his brain for his minimal knowledge of Muggle history. He had no idea who Franz Ferdinand was, or how his assassination affected international relations. He had some inkling about the fall of the Soviet Union, but the date was a complete mystery. The teachers likely did not want to know what he'd been taught about the American Revolution, and he drew a complete blank on the American Civil War. He actually started longing for some questions on Goblin rebellions and promised himself never to mention it to Hermione, granted he ever saw her again. He would never live it down.

"I have a few things to check on, and you should probably have lunch," Mr. Giles interrupted him a bit after noon. "How is it coming?"

"Dismal," Harry blew his fringe off his forehead.

"It can't be all that bad." Mr. Giles picked up Harry's latest essay, where he had strung together the most basic concepts on civil wars in general, hoping for at least partial credit. "Oh dear." Harry snorted. "Well, I recall that English schools do not teach American History, so they can not truly penalize you there."

The man was trying to sound optimistic, and Harry found himself growing to like the man just a bit, though he was still wary.

Harry's afternoon passed with much greater ease than his morning. The crash course he had taken in Arithmancy, combined with the math used in Astronomy and Potions, made the Maths exam much easier than History. He finished that test with a feeling of accomplishment and stacked it neatly with his History work. He carried them out to hand off to Mr. Giles and stopped short when he left the office.

Mr. Giles was talking to four students: the two girls who had been watching him dig up a grave, a girl who brought to mind Pansy Parkinson, or maybe Lavender Brown, or, he thought with a shiver, an unholy combination of the two, and a wholly unremarkable boy. They all turned to look at him, and the Pansy/Lavender girl spoke up.

"Giles, who's the new hottie?"

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Please review, and include your suggestion for a title!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Reminder – I will not work much on this fic until I finish _Child of Four_, so please do not inundate me with demands for updates. The fic is currently untitled, so please send me your suggestions for titles. Please note: There will be canon pairings as well as non, there will be slash, and Harry will be paired with someone from the HP-verse.

Disclaimer – HP? Rowling – Buffy? Whedon – Need I say more?

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- Chapter Two -

As expected, History had been Harry's absolute worst test. Some of the science teachers had apparently been in awe at his knowledge of Astronomy, and he was placed in a mid-level physics class. He was in Advanced English and Pre-Calculus, something called AP Latin, American History, Introduction to Computers, Physical Education (which he was exempt from until he was cleared medically) and he was instructed to choose at least one elective. Harry went with Advanced Cooking, though he was enrolled on a trial basis. His new science teacher informed him that the school Science Fair was mandatory that year, and encouraged him to submit an Astronomy related project.

With no records, the administration was unsure what grade to place him in, but in the end, they decided that based on his birthday he would be eligible for graduation at the end of the year. Harry figured Snyder just wanted to get rid of him as quickly as legally possible. That suited him just fine; if he stuck out the year he would have credentials in both worlds, leaving more opportunities open. Harry was still undecided on which world to live in primarily. He knew that working in the wizarding world would be greatly affected by his fame. Irritated, he resolved not to think too much on that subject.

Despite his misgivings regarding the wizarding world at large, he missed his friends. All attempts to contact home had been dismal failures. If he had enough money, Harry could have considered going to Los Angeles and looking for an American equivalent to Diagon Alley, but had no idea how he'd actually find it, if there was even one there. He was becoming resigned to the idea that unless he could get together enough funds to fly home on a muggle plane, he was stuck until someone from home found him. . . . if anyone was looking.

A week into his time at Sunnydale High, Harry hadn't made a single friend. It was no surprise, really. He simply had no idea how to go about making friends. He didn't see himself saving anyone from a troll anytime soon, or bumping into someone who had been told bedtime stories about him when they were a kid, so he was at a total loss.

Combined with the fact that Dudley had already joined a gang and had half the school thinking that Harry was one step away from murdering them all (granted that those rumors were actually Dudley's fault), the only people who approached him were those that Harry had no interest in knowing. Tonk's love of dressing Harry in leather and tight shirts didn't help the matter either, as he couldn't go out and get different clothes.

Even without friends, it was impossible to stay completely ignorant of the school's rumor mill. It was not at all unusual for a complete stranger to come up to him and blurt out, "Did you hear . . . .," followed by some random tidbit. As such, Harry was not surprised to hear the rumors going around about the old science lab building burning down the night of the last football game as part of some satanic ritual, but he ignored them. Harry put little stock in rumors. For the most part, he distrusted and abhorred them, thanks to his own experience as the focus of the Hogwarts rumor mill.

On the bright side, he was feeling almost entirely healthy again. Dudley was off the diet, which meant everyone got to eat like normal humans rather than anorexic rabbits.

He was somewhat disgusted at the latest girl who had come onto him, clearly interested in the bad boy with the accent, when he literally bumped into an overall-clad redhead. For the briefest of moments, his heart cried out, _Weasley!_ But he quickly came to his senses, especially when he saw that she was grave-digging girl number two.

"Pardon," Harry said quietly.

"Excuse me," Redhead spoke at the same time. "Oh! You're Harry Potter!" For a moment Harry braced himself, and then remembered that no one here knew that part of him. "Your project for the Science Fair was great, and you had so little time to get it done! I liked how you put it all on that old fashioned paper. It gave it authenticity. Did you really make those instruments yourself?"

Truly, parchment was all Harry had for creating his display on astronomical navigation. The astrolabe, orrery, and armillary sphere he made at Hogwarts in Sinistra's class had just been a bonus. The girl was babbling on about the upcoming conjunction of Jupiter and Pluto, and for a moment Harry thought she might be a witch. She didn't have that feel, though.

"I'm sorry, I don't . . . ," Harry interrupted, a little dizzy with how she jumped from theory to theory, without bothering to wait for answers to her questions. It was like Hermione after ten espressos, if his friend ever lowered herself to drinking coffee. Between the artificial wakefulness of the caffeine and the danger to her teeth, she had completely disdained the drink that so many teenagers lived on.

"Oh, sorry," Redhead smiled sheepishly, "I'm Willow, Willow Rosenberg. I saw you in the library when you were taking all your tests, and we're in the same math class."

"Right," Harry nodded and began categorizing why this girl was not a Weasley. Apart from the fact that her clothing, while somewhat odd, was not secondhand, she had far too few freckles, and her hair was not quite red enough.

"Harry." Harry turned to see Giles, apparently all the students left off his honorific, approaching them. It was still a bit odd to him to be addressed so informally by all his teachers. "Hello, Willow."

"Hi," Willow gave the librarian a little wave.

"Principal Snyder would like to see you in his office, Harry," Giles informed him.

Inwardly, Harry groaned, but his only outward sign of displeasure was a slight frown as he nodded his acknowledgement of the message. He wondered if Snyder was distantly related to Umbridge. Harry wouldn't be at all surprised if Snyder came out with a blood quill. Ever since Harry arrived at Sunnydale High, Snyder had been insulting him and watching him with a warning glare whenever he encountered him. It was getting annoying.

Harry knocked before entering the principal's office at the secretary's prompting. Once inside he saw grave-digging girl number one, and another girl who had a faint aroma of alcohol. He was mildly surprised. No one at Hogwarts had been stupid enough to show up for classes smelling like a pub, but of course they had multiple charms and potions at their disposal to eliminate the scent – and the slurred speech – and the general lack of coordination.

There were no seats left facing the desk, aside from Snyder's, so Harry just stood and waited silently with the girls. The short meeting was interesting enough, though Harry had to wonder what on Earth possessed the blond girl's parents to name her Buffy. He also didn't understand her dread, but then, he didn't have parents to come to Parents' Night, and his relatives could hardly care less about him. He did learn that she had supposedly burned down a building at her previous school, and thought back to the rumors he had casually dismissed.

Once the meeting was over and Sheila had ditched them, Harry turned to Buffy, "Well, that girl's going to be utterly useless."

Buffy raised an eyebrow at him, as if challenging his assessment, but then sighed and looked after Sheila, who was greeting an older guy a little more graphically than was appropriate in public. "You're probably right."

"Look," Harry started as Buffy's friends approached. He had no idea why they had all been digging up corpses, and didn't really want to know just then. They didn't seem like they were into necromancy, although you could never be sure. _Constant vigilance_, Harry reminded himself somewhat sarcastically. "I'm pants at decorations, and it seems right up your alley. You do the streamers and pretty colors and all, and I'll do the food."

The look she gave him was a combination of hopeful and doubtful. "You cook?"

"Ever since I was six," Harry replied dryly.

Willow chose that moment to join the conversation. "You've been cooking for ten years?"

"Eleven," Harry told her. "I'm seventeen."

"But why are you in classes with our grade?" Willow questioned as Xander, who was in his history class, standing perfectly within Harry's sight, made elaborate gestures to try and get her to stop talking. Again, he wondered about the parents in that part of the world. Maybe Xander was a nickname . . . he hoped. Of course, _he_ had a friend named Nymphadora.

Harry shrugged, not about to explain that being at a magical boarding school for six years had hampered his muggle education, "Maybe something to do with the difference in British schools? It was probably my history exam that sunk me."

"I hate history," Xander agreed with him emphatically, "what with all the dates and the dead guys."

"Aw," Willow actually sounded a little sad, "Don't say that."

Harry gave her an odd look, wondering what about Xander's remarks could possibly be construed as upsetting or offensive.

"So you'll be okay with the food?" Buffy looked hopeful.

"Sure," Harry informed her nonchalantly. "How many people am I baking for?"

"You bake?" Harry tried not to stare at Xander. It looked like he was actually drooling. Harry nodded. "As in, cookies, and cake, and brownies, and cookies? Did I mention cookies?"

"Good," Buffy breathed and grabbed both her friends, dragging them away from him. "See you there. There are about 800 students in the school."

Harry's eyes widened and he hurried off the find Mrs. Branstrom, one of the few teachers that actively liked him. After he made a flawless quiche in her class, working without a partner or a recipe, she couldn't stop singing his praises. His incredibly neat preparation techniques, thanks to Snape, and nearly obsessive clean-up, thanks to Aunt Petunia, almost had her in raptures.

Hopefully she would let him use the cooking class kitchen and have some idea of where he would obtain all the ingredients he would need to make cookies, brownies, and dip for vegetables and fruit for about one thousand parents . . . in only two days.

By the time Parents' Night arrived, Harry was once again thoroughly exhausted. Luckily, Mrs. Branstrom had recruited the help of several of her classes, cutting Harry's work in half. Still, he spent all his study halls, both lunch periods, and afternoons baking, chopping, mixing, and making punch, complete with floating scoops of sherbet. He delivered the final tray of brownies to the tables Buffy had set up and collapsed in the lounge.

Buffy, looking far too nervous, followed him, "You have flour in your hair."

He ran his fingers through his hair and shook it out, seeing a small cloud of white powder form in the air around his head. He sneezed.

"You made all this?" She looked impressed.

Harry nodded, "Most of it." He took a quick assessment of the area and noted there was no one around. As his inherent curiosity was starting to overwhelm his learned caution, and he was too tired for tact, he just asked her outright, "So, do you spend every night digging up graves with the librarian, or was it just a one time thing?"

"We weren't . . . digging up . . . and I didn't have a shovel anyway . . . and there wasn't a body _to_ dig up . . . so . . ."

She was clearly nervous as hell and trying to cover her tracks, poorly, so he let her off the hook it, "Someone beat you to it? M – Man, this town is weird." He just barely stopped himself from invoking Merlin's name.

"We were just checking," Buffy asserted, looking almost panicked.

Harry, having of course both seen and been involved in much stranger things, wasn't at all fazed. "So graves around here frequently end up bereft of bodies?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

They held each other's gaze for a moment and then went about putting the finishing touches on the school by mutual unspoken consent. Harry barely spoke to Buffy for the rest of the night. She seemed to be playing hostess while running interference between her mother and Snyder, having recruited Willow for assistance in the latter. Of course, if Harry had parents he wouldn't want them anywhere near Snyder, either.

Then again, remembering what sort of stuff his dad got up to at Hogwarts, and the reports of his mother's temper, having them meet one of the many Snyders in his life, were they all still alive, would probably be entertaining.

Harry, meanwhile, ensured that the food was kept stocked while avoiding the Dursleys. In one sense, this wasn't too difficult as they were shunning him, too, but they also loved food, so it was an interesting dance. Their only purpose there that evening was to ignore every negative comment the teachers made about their precious Duddykins, while praising the tub of lard to everyone in earshot, and pretend they were not related to Harry.

Harry scolded himself for being overly vicious, even if it was habit and fully justified in the past. Dudley wasn't so fat anymore; with his boxing, he was more muscle than fat, and he hadn't tried to beat Harry up in years or resurrect 'Harry Hunting' in this new venue. Still, Harry's cousin wasn't winning any academic honors, and he remained a bit of a bully.

The evening was winding up, and luckily most of the parents had left, when the night truly got interesting. While Snyder, in true Snyder fashion, was turning off the lights, leaving the handful of people still there to find their way out in the dark, several figures crashed through the window in the student lounge and people started screaming and running.

Getting a good look at the intruders, Harry swore and used one of the many invisibility spells that Dumbledore taught him before carefully pulling out his wand. He didn't like how his magic reacted to casting that spell, and prayed fervently that he wouldn't have to use any more magic that night.

Harry was hoping to get some information on who these vampires were. If any of them were old enough, he'd be able to essentially announce his presence in town. It was obvious which one was in charge, and the others referred to him as Spike, but that name meant nothing to Harry. He needed to get a good look at his face. The English accent meant that Harry would likely recognize him if he was one of the older vamps out there.

Then he heard mention of the Slayer.

Suddenly, isolated incidents and little things all started aligning and making sense – the strong emanation of dark magic from the earth, the vampires crashing Parents' Night, three teenagers and a librarian digging up a grave to make sure there was still a body in it. Sunnydale was located on a hellmouth, and one of girls, most likely Buffy, was a Slayer. Burning down a building at her former school suddenly made much more sense – it was likely packed with vampires.

Once again, Harry cursed silently. Of course his magic was acting up. Wizards and witches avoided the hellmouths religiously, as it dramatically screwed up their magic. Not even the lure of all that darkness and likelihood of meeting up with demons could have brought Voldemort himself to Sunnydale, and the laws, of course, prevented him from allying with the vampires.

It was just Harry's luck that the Dursleys moved there of all places. No owls would be able to detect his magic, masked by the magic of the hellmouth, nor would any detection spells find him. It would be like he had disappeared . . . or died.

There was a sinking feeling in his chest, yet at the same time he was relieved. While no one from the wizarding world could find him, at least they were probably looking, and hadn't just forgotten him, granted that they were still looking. They might have given up after months with no results.

No one in the wizarding world could find him.

Harry smiled. Finally, after six years of oscillating between being adulated and being condemned, the wizarding world didn't have their savior and Harry didn't have to suffer their attentions – negative or positive.

An enormous weight off his shoulders, Harry turned his attention back to the potential bloodbath in front of him. Buffy was fighting this 'Spike,' and Harry finally got a good look at him just as he was raising a length of wood to strike the Slayer – who had been positively identified as Buffy by Spike. There was a body on the floor, and Moody would have cursed Harry if he had seen him lose situational awareness to such a degree that he missed a murder right in front of him, along with who knew what else.

Moody wasn't there, though, and Harry stepped away from the wall, dropping the illusion that had made him blend into the mural.

"William the Bloody."

Spike stopped and morphed his face back to normal from the demon visage. He looked Harry up and down, his gaze lingering on the wand held loosely by Harry's side. He was not alone. Buffy was looking back and forth between them, trying to puzzle out if they knew each other, and how.

"Bloody hell, Harry Potter." There was a long pause, during which Buffy scooted away from Spike and stood, her mother entering the room behind Spike. "You living here?"

"Yes. You? Figuratively speaking of course, seeing as you're not among the living."

"No offense taken," Spike smiled charmingly, yet the malice clearly showed. "Me and Dru moved in recently." He saw the Slayer was gearing up to fight again. "See you around."

He disappeared out through the broken window as Buffy and her mom had a moment. Buffy gave him a dark look that clearly stated they would be talking soon, and Harry simply nodded, his face impassive.

As he headed towards the Dursleys' new house, he considered his situation from a new vantage point. He was living on a hellmouth, which meant his magic would be temperamental – more so than usual – and he was surrounded by vampires and demons. Demons he could eliminate as necessary with varying degrees of difficulty, and now that they knew who he was, the vampires would leave him alone. He gritted his teeth as he recalled that he couldn't interfere with the bloodsuckers, not directly anyway, but if he happened across one of them feeding, he could warn them off.

He would have to work on his magic, figure out exactly how the hellmouth affected him. To do so he would have to find a safe place to practice. The Dursleys' house was out of the question. He could flatten the place, with him and the Dursleys inside, with one overcharged spell.

Considering their interactions, Giles was probably Buffy's Watcher. There was no other plausible reason that he would have been in that graveyard with her. The older man would probably be able to help Harry find a practice space. The Watchers Council was aware of the wizarding world, even if there was almost no interaction.

The Vampire Treaty of 390 (after the Massacre of Thessaloniki, which was prompted by a muggle misunderstanding triggered by the Vampire-Wizard Wars) created the International Vampire-Wizard Tenants, which ensured that conflicts between wizards or witches and vampires were minimal. Vampires did not attack wizards and witches, and they, in turn, did not kill vampires unless attacked. This relied, of course, on both parties making their nature known. As it was a magical treaty, repercussions were immediate and unpleasant.

Harry arrived at the Dursleys' and stood on the 'Welcome' mat, looking down on it with yet another sigh. He would have to explain the facts of life on a hellmouth to the Dursleys.

Part of him looked forward to informing his uncle that they had moved to perhaps the only place on Earth that was freakier than Harry's world was. Of course, the magic of the hellmouth would make most of the residents look the other way. The Dursleys, with their awareness of the wizarding world, would have no such luck.

Most of Harry, though, was weary of these things always happening around him, and much preferred just going to sleep and forgetting the whole evening. He knew he couldn't, though. The Tenants would not extend to cover the Dursleys, as they were not magical in the slightest. Harry would never forgive himself if they were killed by vampires or demons and he hadn't warned them of the danger.

Sometimes having a hero complex was a right pain in the arse.

Harry stepped inside and found all three Dursleys sitting in the living room in front of the television, eating cookies they had brought back with them and heaping praise on Dudley for 'impressing his teachers' so well. Harry resisted snorting. The only thing Dudley had impressed on his teachers was his lack of study skills, nonexistent academic ambition, and tendency towards bullying.

"This was a very bad idea," Harry said, startling them all with his presence while he dropped the mat on the floor. That certainly got their attention.

Uncle Vernon started turning purple, and Harry decided to head him off.

"You moved to one of the only places in the world so magical that witches and wizards won't get anywhere near if they can help it." The purple receded and cycled through pink and green, settling on a sickly yellowish-white. "Sunnydale sits on a hellmouth, which is basically what it sounds like. It's like a beacon for all the evil in the world, and this town is full of demons.

"You've noticed the number of graveyards and churches?" The Dursleys all nodded – struck silent in fear. "You'll probably be fine if you're careful. Start carrying a cross; that will scare away most of the bad guys you encounter out there. Don't go anywhere alone after dark, and never directly invite anyone into the house, only imply the invitation. Vampires can only enter if invited."

"V-vampires?" Dudley squeaked.

Harry nodded, "A group of them crashed Parents' Night after you left." He motioned to the mat, "I highly suggest you burn that, and don't replace it with anything similar. A 'Welcome' mat is like a neon sign saying '24 Hour All-You-Can-Eat Buffet.'" If possible, the Dursleys went whiter. "Oh yeah, pretty much anything will die if you behead it, but don't go around chopping off heads. You might accidentally kill a human. Good night."

Harry would have been pleased with himself for freaking the Dursleys out and messing with their minds if what he said hadn't been the absolute naked truth.

As he climbed up to his room, complete with a door that had no outside locks or cat flap, he thought about his upcoming talk with Buffy. Convincing the Slayer that he wasn't a threat was the first order of business. After all, he had just had a completely amiable, if somewhat guarded conversation with a vampire right in front of her.

Once she stopped directing pointy, lethal objects in his direction, he would have to tell her that he had the power to help her, but was legally restricted from doing so, where vampires were concerned anyway. It was open-season on demons. Buffy would probably be the first Slayer aware of the wizarding world in hundreds of years.

He wondered abstractly how the Statute of Secrecy applied in this case, as she might actually qualify as a magical creature, given her enhanced strength and senses, but figured that someone could Obliviate her later if need be. Then again, given that the Ministry couldn't track anything happening on the Hellmouth, it's not like they would find out that she – or anyone else in Sunnydale – knew about magic. As a Watcher, Giles was certainly exempt.

Regardless of the disturbing implications of the night, Harry went to sleep with a smile on his face. Somewhere out there, if his hunches had been correct, a highly freckled redhead was searching for him – well, probably an entire redheaded family, and a whole host of others, but it was the one redhead that counted just then.

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Please review, and include your suggestion for a title!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Reminder – I will not work much on this fic until I finish _Child of Four_, so please do not inundate me with demands for updates. The fic is currently untitled, so please send me your suggestions for titles. Please note: There will be canon pairings as well as non, there will be slash, and Harry will be paired with someone from the HP-verse.

Disclaimer – HP? Rowling – Buffy? Whedon – Need I say more?

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- Chapter Three -

The morning sun woke him after a night without a single dream that he could remember – in full anyway. What little he could recall of his nocturnal mindscape made his face, and much more, flush bright red. For a seventeen year old male, Harry decided he had far too little sexual experience – certainly not an unusual thought for a person his age. A few kisses with Cho and some fumblings in dance clubs with people whose names he did not even remember did not constitute a sufficient sexual résumé.

Unfortunately, the person he wished to rectify that with was nowhere near and impossible to contact. And, as Harry had discovered the previous year, he was not one for casual liaisons. He groaned and smashed his pillow over his face, willing away his morning stiffness. There was no way he could take care of it manually – not anywhere that a Dursley could catch him, anyway. He sighed in relief – thoughts of the Dursleys were obviously a sufficient deterrent to arousal.

His arrival at school was not without trepidation. He stuck to crowded areas, places that a Slayer would be unlikely to pounce on him and demand explanations, using sharpened wooden objects as persuasion. Knowing that he would have to talk eventually, and much preferring it happen within the school rather than during one of his late night walks, Harry made his way towards the library. As her Watcher, perhaps Giles would keep things non-violent until Harry could satisfy her curiosity.

Luckily for him, or perhaps not so much, the entire gang of Slayer and friends were lounging around a table while Cordelia ranted about being left in a closet for hours (apparently you couldn't attend the school for more than a couple of days without learning her name), surprisingly supported by Willow, who was far less vehement.

Wondering how long it would take them to notice his presence, Harry didn't say anything and heard quite a bit about slaying . . . and how Cordelia was never going to pray again as apparently no one ever answered prayers. Finally, sick of hearing how the cheerleader had missed her beauty sleep and had to mix a perfect combination of foundation to hide the circles under her eyes, interspersed with several disturbing comments from Xander about pillow fights and lingerie, Harry spoke up.

"Gee, if I didn't already know Buffy was the Slayer, I would now." Harry smirked as more than one of the teens at the table jumped in surprise.

Giles came out from his office, reading a book that would have looked at home in the Hogwarts library and glanced up to see his four students staring at Harry. "Did I miss something?"

"Oh, not much," Xander piped up sarcastically. "Only that Willow and Cordelia were trapped together in a closet all night, neglected to engage in any girl on girl fun, and the new kid knows about the slaying."

Giles blinked at Harry, who was doing his best to look completely innocent and harmless – not all that hard considering his small stature. "Oh, my."

Buffy took that as her cue to begin the interrogation and stalked over to Harry, very menacing in her own pink-clad way. But then, Harry had bad experience with those who wore pink cardigans. He shivered in remembrance, and Buffy smirked, likely thinking she was intimidating him.

"How is it you recognized a vampire?" Buffy asked him, her tone brooking no disobedience. "And he knew you, too?"

Harry brushed his fingers through his hair, calmly stepped around Buffy and took a seat at the table next to Willow, grinning at her. She smiled back, her smile not very convincing. She was clearly worried that he might attack.

"I'm a wizard."

"Sure," Xander replied, "and I'm Superman."

"As if," Cordelia muttered. Harry suspected she was annoyed that her ranting had been derailed.

Most of them were looking at him skeptically, but Giles was interested, "Are you really? What are you doing _here_?"

"Believe me," Harry snorted in disgust, "if I had a choice, I would be far away from this hellhole . . . sorry, _hellmouth_. I was pretty close to unconsciousness when my relatives moved us here, didn't even have a chance to tell anyone, and thanks to the dark magic that absolutely saturates this town, I have no way of contacting anyone from home."

The other teens in the room were stunned into silence, but Giles hardly noticed, as he seemed enraptured with the idea of having a real live wizard in front of him. The interrogation quickly changed from Buffy determining if Harry was a threat, to Giles learning as much as he could about the wizarding world and Willow quizzing him on the difference between Wiccan magic and wizarding magic. Harry resolved to keep an eye on her – one potential muggle magic user was bad enough, but two, or more – he was starting to like this town a little less.

"Well, that explains your test results," Giles commented absently after a brief explanation of Hogwarts' curriculum.

Harry rolled his eyes, "Yeah, never would have thought Care of Magical Creatures would come in handy for taking a test in Biology, and try explaining to a muggle that Eva Braun was really a witch and she just died in prison two years ago while what died with Hitler in her place was a simulacrum, and, oh yeah, unicorns, fairies, leprechauns, dragons, pixies, vampires, and the Loch Ness Monster are real . . ."

Every face around the table was staring at him and Harry cut of his rant abruptly. He smiled sheepishly and dug his fingers into his hair. Just because these particular muggles were all aware of the supernatural, and thus were _possibly_ exempt from the Statute of Secrecy, didn't mean he should tell them _everything_ he knew about the wizarding world.

Luckily for Harry, the first bell rang, and all the students scrambled to get their backpacks and get to class on time.

"Are you going on the fieldtrip next week?" Willow questioned him as she hurried to match his pace to their shared Intro to Calculus class. "Cause it's gonna be so fun. I love the museum –"

"Not going." Harry interrupted her before she would get too excited telling him all the things he would miss out on – reminding him a little too much of his third year and Hogsmeade trips.

"Aw, why not?"

Harry frowned, "Field trips cost money and require permission. I have neither."

They slid into their seats, and Harry was saved from the inevitable questioning by the beginning of class. He passed his homework forward and took out his notebook. Luckily, the Dursleys recognized that they had to provide some school supplies for him or risk looking neglectful, as Dudley had the best of everything. Otherwise, Harry would be forced to take notes on his remaining parchment, which would make the Dursleys look _unnatural_. Aunt Petunia had frowned in that pinched, sour way of hers and bought the cheapest notebooks and pens she could find. He had to borrow a calculator from the school.

The day went by like any other, and Harry managed to avoid further inquisition, probably thanks to Willow. She was a smart girl, and when she and Harry literally bumped into Dudley between math and physics, it didn't take an Einstein to connect the only two new students at school who both had British accents.

"Different last names, so, cousins, step-brothers, half-brothers?"

"Mm, hm, cousin" Harry agreed as non-verbally as possibly. While he and Dudley were not as antagonistic as previously, they were by no means friends, and Harry really wanted to be associated with him as little as possible.

Willow frowned as she looked back and forth between the two boys and nodded slowly. "I see."

And it was likely she did.

Harry ate lunch alone, as he was accustomed to doing, but within sight of the slayer gang, who did a lot of whispering. By the attempts at discreet looks in both his and Dudley's directions, Harry guessed that they were elaborating his history on their own. He was unconcerned, as he doubted that whatever conclusions they came to would harm him in any way – it could actually provide some entertainment.

It was International Week at Sunnydale High, with a mass of exchange students, including a dance at the Bronze, where students were encouraged to wear foreign costumes. Luckily for Harry and his lack of budget, he _was_ foreign, so he could wear whatever the hell he wanted and just claim he was representing Mother England.

Buffy and her friends were very interesting to observe that week.

As Harry had predicted, Giles was more than willing to offer Harry practice space in the library. Apparently, Buffy's training took place in the library, so Giles was accustomed to objects getting broken and books being destroyed. With that in mind, he kept the most valuable (both monetarily and practically) books in the stacks far away from the main area of the library.

Determined to cause as little trouble as possible, Harry requested some of those broken and damaged objects and began working on his repairing spells first. He was at work when the door to the library opened one morning – Harry having arrived a few hours before classes began – and he quickly sheathed his wand to avoid awkward questions.

Luckily, it was just Giles, Willow, and Xander, discussing the museum field trip and some broken artifact they found after hours.

"Don't expect me to fix that, too," Harry joked, alerting them to his presence. "I have enough to work with already."

Both Willow and Xander were startled, but Giles was aware that Harry would be coming in early to work as he couldn't escape cooking dinner for the Dursleys. As it was, he doubted they appreciated the breakfasts he was leaving covered in the oven, set on warm, but they hadn't complained yet. Their sense of self-preservation might actually have kicked in for once.

"Oh!" Willow, of course, immediately leapt into Willow-babble, which Harry was beginning to find endearing. The slightly disjointed quality to it made her seem much less like a know-it-all, a distinct difference from classic Hermione lecturing which was much slower and more composed. "We just want to know what it says, because it might have something to do with this boy who's a mummy, and this mummy who we think escaped, and didn't you say your school taught runes?"

"Yeah," Harry abandoned his practice for the moment and went to look at their artifact, "but it was an elective that I didn't elect to take, though I did have to suffer through Hermione's many reasons why I _should_ have studied runes." He peered at the plate and frowned. "I don't recognize it at all; I don't think it's one of the magical rune languages, at least not one used on my side of the pond."

Leaving them to ponder over the plate, Harry went back to work. He could certainly cast spells, and channeling the magic through his wand was not at all difficult, but the result was unpredictable. He was as likely to further shatter a lamp as he was to repair it seamlessly. Theorizing that he would need to consciously control the amount of power he put into a spell, as well as focus very specifically on the desired outcome, he settled himself into Occlumency exercises, clearing his mind to aid his concentration.

New people entered the library, though he only noticed them enough on the periphery of his consciousness to dismiss them as immediate threats. Still, he knew that classes started soon and he would need a head start if he was going to finish baking a perfect flourless chocolate cake in one period.

As he left the library, he noticed that Xander was flirting shamelessly with an exotic looking girl who had to be Buffy's exchange student, while Willow looked on longingly. He had noticed the odd dynamic between Willow and Xander before, which strongly reminded him of how Hermione and Ron interacted the previous year, though Willow was certainly shyer than Hermione, and probably less adventurous as well. Seeing as Harry wasn't able to help Hermione much while Ron was all over Lavender Brown, Harry determined he would stay out of this situation unless he was dragged in.

Of course, he was destined to be dragged in. Why would Harry's life in Sunnydale be any different from his life at Hogwarts?

He was practicing his spells again after school. Harry didn't truly mean to eavesdrop on the conversation between Buffy and Willow, and they might not have even known he was there, but he couldn't help overhearing. He kept finding little things that separated the people he was getting to know in Sunnydale from his friends at Hogwarts. In some ways, Willow was much more mature than Hermione. Rather than finding some way to hurt Xander, assuming that he knew he was hurting her, Willow decided to move past her crush on him. Hermione had cursed Ron more than once for dating Lavender, which he had every right to do. Though she had remarked in the past that Ron was emotionally clueless, she still expected him to pick up on her feelings for him. It was a ridiculous huge mess, to which Hermione refused to apply her vaunted logic, and Harry wondered if they had sorted it out yet. The distance between Harry and Ron, and closer relationship between Harry and Hermione, had not helped the matter any.

He gave up his practice for the day; the _Reparo_ spell was working fine now, and he had moved on to cushioning spells, determined to make his bed comfortable. Once he had that down he figured he should work on some curses and other combat spells. After all, chances were he would encounter some non-vampire demon eventually in this town.

He stopped himself from laughing when he overheard Xander claiming that he, Buffy, and Willow were a 'crime club,' but his urge to laugh faded when Ampata overreacted to the seal. With a sigh, Harry knew that she was more involved in the whole mummy business than anyone else thought, but the question was, how?

Willow and Xander were talking in the hall as he got to the door and Harry stopped, not wanting to intrude. He flinched in sympathy as Willow made yet one more gesture that sacrificed her own ambitions in favor of making Xander happy.

"He's an idiot," Harry remarked quietly after Xander walked off to find Ampata.

They headed towards the exit of the school, walking in a comfortable silence, or mostly comfortable, as Willow was still upset over Xander.

"I've known him for years, and she's only been here a few days," Willow complained as they walked out into the sun.

It was already October, and it was still warm outside, even hot at times. In England, Harry knew, it was likely rainy and cool, rather dreary. At least Sunnydale had some measure of compensation for being overrun with demons.

Harry shrugged. "We can't really help who we like, can we?"

"I suppose not," Willow agreed with a sigh. "Are you going to the dance?"

"Yeah," Harry told her. He smiled, knowing he could cheer her up at least a little. "How about we go together? We can head over to my relative's house – we're almost there anyway – get dinner going, and then I'll cook something for us at your house."

For a brief instant Harry wished he hadn't said anything. He didn't want Willow to think he was asking her on a date.

"You'll cook dinner for me?" Willow sounded both disbelieving and hopeful.

"Sure," Harry told her with another grin, deciding that he would work things out later if necessary. "The surefire way to heal a broken heart is food, lots of good food."

"You know from experience?" Willow questioned him, still apparently trying to piece together the Harry Potter puzzle.

"Eh, sort of." Harry didn't feel like explaining the Hogwarts kitchens, house elves, and his late-night chocolate fudge sundae sympathy sessions with Hermione. He didn't know if it was actually the food, or the talking, but Hermione always felt better afterwards.

Harry took a steeling breath as they got to the Dursleys' house, predictably the dullest, most boring looking structure on the block. "Here it is."

Willow looked startled. "Hey! You live next door to Buffy!"

"Figures," Harry grumbled, part of wondering why it had taken so long to find out. Harry liked Buffy, but he sick of the coincidences that kept piling up in his life.

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Please review, and include your suggestion for a title!


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Reminder – I will not work much on this fic until I finish _Child of Four_, so please do not inundate me with demands for updates. The fic is currently untitled, so please send me your suggestions for titles. Please note: There will be canon pairings as well as non, there will be slash, and Harry will be paired with someone from the HP-verse.

Disclaimer – HP? Rowling – Buffy? Whedon – Need I say more?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

- Chapter Four -

"They're not very pleasant people," Willow commented as she hopped onto the counter in her kitchen.

Rooting through the cabinets to see what sort of ingredients her parents stocked, hoping they wouldn't have to make a grocery run, he snorted. "What ever made you come to that conclusion?"

Willow just laughed, a good sound to hear. The Dursleys had been their usual selves that afternoon. Harry had thrown together a roast and set it cooking in the oven, leaving a note telling his Aunt when to take it out. With potatoes, carrots, onions, and celery all in the pot with the roast, dinner pretty much cooked itself. He even sliced some fresh bread and set the table, but Aunt Petunia still complained as he and Willow walked out of the house.

"Is your family Kosher?" Harry asked, his head stuck in the fridge.

Willow replied simply, "Nope."

"Good," Harry sighed with relief. "I'm not really sure of all the rules and stuff." He looked a little longer and then turned, still holding the fridge open. "Vegetarian?"

"No."

"How does Chicken Kiev sound?" Harry decided the Rosenberg's had all the ingredients necessary for the relatively simple dish.

"Yummy," Willow agreed. She jumped off the counter and began taking food from him as he pulled it out of the fridge. "Can I help?"

"Sure," Harry handed her tomatoes, baby spinach, carrots, black olives, and red onions. "Can you put together a salad?"

Willow grinned and saluted, "Aye, aye, captain!"

The Rosenbergs came home just as Harry was finishing up his prep work, and looked startled to find a boy they didn't know cooking dinner in their kitchen.

"Mom! Dad! Hi!" Willow smiled at her parents as she chewed on some of the carrot she was chopping. "This is Harry. He's new here. His family moved in next door to Buffy."

Willow's mother looked confused for a bit, and her father just waved and then went up the stairs, "Buffy . . . she's the blond one, right?"

"Yeah, Mom." Willow rolled her eyes at Harry.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Rosenberg." Harry didn't offer his hand to shake, in case it had salmonella from the chicken. "I can make some more if you want?"

"No, that's okay," Mrs. Rosenberg replied. "We're meeting some clients for dinner tonight. You two have fun."

With that, she disappeared upstairs after her husband. Harry gave Willow a questioning look, but she seemed completely unfazed.

"They're not here all that much," Willow commented blandly, and Harry knew better than to push. Instead, he put a loaf of bread down on her cutting board, as the salad was finished.

"Here, slice the bread almost all the way, and put butter and garlic between the slices. Then we'll wrap it in foil and stick it in the oven with the chicken."

"Mmmm, garlic," Willow's eyes lit up at the prospect.

Harry had fun making dinner with Willow, and found that the two of them could talk about seemingly nothing for hours. Her parents left for their dinner with the barest of good-byes, just a simple wave as they went past the kitchen. Harry and Willow had decided to eat at the kitchen island, seated on bar stools, surrounded by the smells of chicken and butter and garlic from the oven.

"This is really good," Willow remarked after washing down a bite of angel hair pasta with her soda. "You should be a chef."

"Haven't really given it much thought." Harry shrugged. "Until this summer, there was this prophecy looming over me, and then I found myself half-way around the world, and now I'm just trying to get my bearings, you know?"

Willow frowned, "You really miss England, huh?"

"It's more my friends," Harry admitted, casting his eyes down to his food. He cut a piece of chicken and chewed it thoughtfully. "I mean, I know they're alive, 'cause the Headmaster sent me a letter, but I don't know if they were hurt, or if they know I'm okay."

She looked perplexed, and Harry realized he hadn't ever gone into any detail about why he was so sick over the summer.

"There was this big battle, see, and I was at the center of it all, because I was prophesied to be the only one who could kill this dark lord," Harry explained as Willow munched on her salad and reached for a slice of garlic bread, unwrapping the kitchen towel that was keeping it warm. "All my friends were involved, and my teachers, and people I didn't even know. It took everything I had to kill him, and more." Harry set down his fork, and decided not to embellish further. There was no reason to tell Willow that Harry had died himself, and had been given the choice between staying with his parents and Sirius, and returning to finish off Voldemort for good.

"Sorry." Willow was looking at him with sympathy.

Harry gave a weak grin, "It's okay. I just really want to find a way to contact home."

"E.T. phone home," Willow giggled, and Harry just stared at her, wondering what she was talking about. Her giggle stopped abruptly and she looked a bit peeved. "Let me guess, they don't let you watch movies."

Harry shook his head and changed the topic. Luckily Willow, unlike Hermione, sensed that he didn't want to talk about the Dursleys and she didn't push. "So, what's this great costume you have planned?"

"Eskimo," Willow grinned. "They're fascinating, and we don't have any exchange students from Alaska, because it's not exactly foreign, but it feels like it is because they're so different. What are you wearing?"

"I have some regular clothes in my bag," Harry told her. He held up his hands in defense when Willow frowned at him. "Hey, I _am_ foreign! I can guarantee that every piece of clothing I'll wear was purchased in London."

"Oooh," Willow's eyes lit up at the thought of London, "tell me what it's like."

They finished their meal discussing the historic sites of London, most of which Harry had never seen, and the night-life, much of which Harry _had_ seen. Willow insisted on cleaning up, since Harry had cooked, even though it mostly consisted of rinsing dishes and piling them into the dishwasher. She went upstairs to her room to change, and pointed Harry towards the guest room where he could change.

Harry had decided to go with the classic British punk look, as he had the clothes and all he needed was a few charms. Tonks had insisted almost a year ago that since Harry's perma-messy hair was doomed to stay that way, he should dress around it. She had declared him perfectly suited for punk, and took him on a shopping spree to properly equip him.

He tucked his tight leather pants into his Doc Martens, pulled on a pre-worn Weird Sisters shirt, buckled a spiked collar around his neck and a spiked bracelet on his wrist. Then he took a deep breath as he pointed his wand at himself. The spell was so simple, that if it went wrong he doubted it would do much harm.

Moments later, he breathed out in relief as the tips of his hair changed to bright fire-engine red. Ditching his glasses in favor of contacts, which he rarely wore as they irritated his eyes, he applied eyeliner by hand.

Harry fondly recalled the night that Fred and George had instructed him on the appropriate technique, and his completely gob-smacked reaction to their well-versed knowledge of make-up application. The excuse that most of their friends in Hogwarts were girls had barely registered at the time, though in retrospect he thought there was more to it.

Folding his jeans and shirt and placing them in his bag, he put his trainers and bag by the door to the room and went out to meet Willow.

"Wow," Willow commented, her eyes round with surprise. "I take it back. You qualify."

Harry smirked and sighed internally at the bundled-up girl in front of him. She really had no clue. Shifting from smirk to smile, he complimented her, "I like the Eskimo look – cozy. Can I leave my stuff here?"

"Sure," Willow grinned, happy that he liked her costume. "You can get it after the dance."

Harry bowed, then held out his arm, "Shall we?"

"Yes, let's," Willow replied with a lofty tone that was ruined by her giggle, and looped her arm through his.

They walked across the town, cutting through two cemeteries on the way to The Bronze, talking about his friends from Hogwarts. Willow wanted to know everything about them, it seemed, and was especially interested at the vast age range that encompassed his friends. He supposed it was odd that his friends included Remus, a man his parent's age, but as he was dating Tonks, and she was about halfway between their ages, it somehow all worked out. As Harry was the youngest in that particular circle, the difference likely seemed greater to people his age.

"Do you have a girlfriend back there?" Willow questioned him curiously.

Harry was beyond relieved at the new line of questioning even if the topic itself was somewhat stressful. After all, if Willow had considered their night an actual date, she would hardly be asking him if he already had a girlfriend. "Sort of . . . well, not really . . . it's really hard to say."

Willow's simple, inviting look was so like Hermione that Harry couldn't resist. And really, Harry was so well-versed in Willow's relationship woes, that he felt he should return the favor. They were at the door to The Bronze almost before Harry knew it, and he had completely unloaded on Willow, making her the only one to ever hear his full thoughts on the subject.

"Wow, complicated," Willow remarked as they squeezed their way past other dance-goers.

Harry snorted, "Tell me 'bout it."

Still, he felt lighter somehow, relieved to have gotten it all out. He hadn't spoken much to Hermione about his infatuation, as she had her own problems with Ron that were consuming her thoughts, and with classes on top of that there wasn't room for much else. When he was with his friends outside of Hogwarts, the twins, Kingsley, Tonks, Remus, Fleur, the oldest Weasley brothers, and all his old quidditch mates, he just wanted to enjoy the time as much as he could.

"Dance?" Harry turned to Willow and raised an eyebrow.

She was in the process of nodding when Cordelia, wearing as little as possible to no surprise, wandered by them and snidely spoke to Willow, "Oh! Near faux pas! I almost wore the same thing."

"She really takes bitch to a whole new level, doesn't she?" Harry didn't bother moderating his tone, and Cordelia just smirked at him as if proud of her bitch-status.

Willow sighed, "It's pretty much standard Cordelia. Let's dance."

The music was pretty good, though not up to night club standards, and Harry fully enjoyed himself. The dancing was a bit tamer than he had grown accustomed to – even at the Yule Ball at Hogwarts a near mosh pit had formed – yet it was easy enough to tone it down a notch. At least Harry didn't have to defend against crushed toes and black eyes while fending off gropers. Before long, though, it was clear that Willow's choice of costume did not take into consideration the weather, nor the heat of the club, so Harry tactfully suggested they take a breather and get something to drink.

It was a strange club, catering as it did towards teenagers, even with a university in the town. At the supposed bar, Harry could choose from a variety of coffee drinks, smoothies, soft drinks, and fruit punch. As the dance was a school sponsored event, the drinks were free that night, and there was table with platters of brownies and cookies, along with bowls of various types of crisps. Getting two cups of fruit punch, Harry weaved through the crowd to the food table and balanced a plate of double-chocolate brownies on one of his cups.

Making his way back to Willow, he saw her standing alone, looking forlorn, gazing into the crowd of dancers. Following her line of sight, he saw Xander dancing rather closely with Ampata. The two teens were absorbed in each other, clearly in the depths of teenage 'love.' Feeling a stab of pity for Willow, Harry let his own gaze wander a bit and saw the lead guitar player of _Dingoes Ate My Baby_ watching Willow with undisguised fascination.

_Hmm,_ Harry thought to himself, _there's potential here_.

For the first time, he saw the potential allure of matchmaking, something he had disdained when listening to groups of twittering girls in the Gryffindor common room. Unlike those girls, though, Harry intended to hatch no plots. He would wait and watch, and if an opportunity presented itself, he had no qualms about nudging the two redheads together.

He saw a table open up and moved quickly to grab it, motioning for Willow to join him. As she worked her way through the crowd, Harry noticed the guitar player looking disappointed. Through a series of smiles and hand gestures – after he put down his cups and brownies – Harry tried to convey that he wasn't actually _together_ with Willow, but wasn't sure if he was successful.

Willow arrived and shrugged off her heavy coat, then drank her fruit punch with obvious gratitude, and Harry pushed his untouched cup towards her while he bit into a brownie, savoring the soft cakey chocolate. She smiled and took smaller sips now that her immediate thirst was quenched.

"Hey," Xander said breathlessly as he approached their table, "have either of you seen Ampata?"

Harry frowned at the taller boy. The idiot clearly had no idea how much he was hurting Willow on a regular basis. Of course, if he didn't see her in the girlfriend way, nothing could force him to change, and Willow would have to get over her crush if she wanted to stay friends with him.

"No, sorry," Willow replied and Xander rushed off, leaving Willow to stare after him.

Nudging her shoulder, Harry tried to distract the girl, "So, tell me about this Angel I keep hearing mentioned."

"Oh!"

Willow's explanation had Harry nearly choking on his second brownie.

"Wait, so Angel was once Angelus? He, William the Bloody, and Drusilla are _all_ in town?" Harry was suddenly wishing for a drink, something much stronger than The Bronze offered. While the vampires wouldn't attack him directly, they could still cause quite a bit of mayhem, and Harry was starting to see Buffy as a friend. Having all three of those particular vampires together did not speak well for her chances of seeing her next birthday. Thinking a little more calmly, Harry mused aloud, "But Angelus has a soul now, so they won't be working together."

"Huh? Who's Drusilla?"

Harry ran his fingers through his hair. This was going to be a long explanation if he had to get into the whole history of vampires in Great Britain, luckily taught in Defense Against the Dark Arts as he would have slept through the section if it was taught in History of Magic.

Before he could get into the story, though, Buffy came running up to them.

"Where's Xander?" she asked urgently, gripping Willow's arm.

Willow frowned, figuring that something was wrong, "He's looking for Ampata."

"We need to find him," Buffy said, looking a little panicked. "Ampata's the mummy."

"Oh." Willow looked startled at first, but then somewhat smug as she said, "Good." She quickly switched to near panic as she realized the implications of the situation, "Xander!"

"Where's Giles?" Harry questioned.

"The museum," Buffy said, looking to Harry. "He has to reassemble the seal to stop Ampata."

Harry nodded, "I'll go help Giles. You two get Xander."

He jumped up and ran off, waving apologetically to the lead guitar player who got to their table just as everyone left. Wishing he could just hop on his broom, or better yet, apparate, Harry ran as fast as could to the museum. Thankfully, it was a small town, and everything that had any significance was within a few miles radius.

He skidded to a stop and darted up the steps, his breath coming a bit painfully. Harry had finally been cleared for physical education classes, but they didn't make you run two miles at top speed. He really needed to get in better shape.

"Giles!" Harry yelled, panting, noting that there was no guard and the doors were unlocked. Security was pretty poor in Sunnydale.

"Harry," Giles's voice came from somewhere to Harry's right, "is that you?"

He wove his way through exhibits, wishing he had been on the field trip. At least then he would know his way around. He had to turn back more than once, and was vaguely reminded of the third task in the TriWizard Tournament.

"Are all museums mazes?" Harry questioned in irritation as he finally found the man kneeling on the ground with the shards of the seal and a jar of rubber cement.

Giles nodded absently, "I'm afraid so. You see, if people can't find their way out they spend more time looking at the exhibits."

"Uh huh," Harry looked down in disbelief, not actually having expected an answer. "I can help with that, you know."

"Oh, right," Giles smiled as he stood, brushing dust off his trousers and stepped back.

Harry took his wand out and was about to incant the repairing spell, when he felt something change in the room. He turned just in time for Ampata to grab the front of his shirt and fling him across the room, knocking the breath out of him as he hit the wall hard, startled at her strength. She knocked Giles aside, making him stumble back and fall into her no-longer-occupied tomb as she bent down and hurled the largest piece of the seal to the ground, shattering it.

Just as she was about to suck the life out of Giles, though, Buffy appeared and their battle began.

Harry shook his head, trying to get his breath back and gain some focus. He blinked a few times, suspecting he might have a mild concussion as there were spots in his vision. With the presence of the Hellmouth, he needed to concentrate fully in order to cast the spell correctly. Willow and Xander appeared shortly behind Buffy, just in time to see Buffy tossed into Ampata's tomb on top of Giles.

Aiming his wand at the seal, Harry did his best to mask his presence while concentrating, but then hesitated. If there was any one thing he had learned over the years, it was unwise, usually dangerous, to mess with unknown magic unprepared. With Ampata holding Willow, there was no telling what would happen if Harry repaired the seal. The effects of the Hellmouth on his magic on top of that . . . Harry didn't like the odds of Willow coming out of this unscathed.

Luckily, the situation resolved itself before Harry was forced to make a decision. Xander stepped in to protect Willow, Ampata was unable to harm Xander, and Buffy pulled the mummy's rapidly decaying corpse away, leaving Xander still holding the arms. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust, gathered his wits, waved his wand, and the seal flew back together.

As did Ampata.

And a few other artifacts in the room.

Harry hoped it was limited to that. He hoped the curator of the museum would just chalk it up to the weirdness that was Sunnydale. The others looked at him questioningly and he shrugged.

"Oops?"

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Please review, and include your suggestion for a title!


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